Page 63 of Cloaked in Beauty

He gave no indication that he heard, just wriggled through the opening as soon as he could fit his head through and ran off into the gray dimness of predawn. She stood in the doorway, watching him run. He barely limped at all. Letty’s heart beat out a prayer of gratitude that the extra rest had restored the health of both her protectors.

“How’re things looking out there?” Philip’s low voice wrapped around her like a fleece blanket.

Letty closed the door and turned to find her Pinkerton sitting on the edge of his own bunk, a yawn stretching his mouth as he rubbed a hand over his head. Not that he had any tousled locks to smooth. He wore his hair the length of a shorn sheep. Vastly different from the images in her storybooks of medieval princes with flowing manes reaching to their shoulders. She used to wonder what it would feel like to run her fingers through such a man’s hair, but the idea no longer held the same appeal. The clean-cut masculinity of the man before her put those romanticized storybook men to shame.

He finished his yawn and looked at her expectantly, reminding her that he had asked a question.

“There’s definitely a morning nip in the air but no rain. Should be a good day for traveling.” As she ducked around a pair of hanging trousers on her way to the stove, she tested the fabric between her thumb and fingers of one hand while clasping the toe of a nearby woolen sock with her other. “Feels like things have dried out in here, too.” She aimed a smile in Philip’s direction. “No need to keep wearing our rag-bin fashion.”

The answering smile he sent her moved through her insides like drizzled honey. “Glad to hear it. I’m pretty sure Steele would refuse to be seen with me if I showed up in pants that failed to cover my boot tops. He has his reputation as a dashing steed to consider, after all.”

Letty chuckled, then sucked in a breath when Philip rose from his bunk and moved to collect his shirt from where it hung a few feet away. Goodness, but the man was a feast for the eyes. Even with too-short pants and dozens of scrapes and bruises marring his chest. Her heart panged at the sight of the purple-and-green discoloration that had risen to the surface overnight, though. Visible proof that his injuries were more than mere abrasions.

She hugged her middle in sympathy. “Are you terribly sore this morning?”

He pulled his shirt down from where it hung, then glanced at the bruises coloring his abdomen and ribs. His shoulders offered a small shrug before he slid the shirt over his head and pushed his arms through the sleeves. The lines around his mouth tightened slightly when he worked his bandaged arm through the opening, but he made no sound of distress.

“Not any worse than yesterday.” He reached for the buttons that began midway up his chest and started doing them up. “I’ll be good as new in a day or two.”

He grabbed a pair of socks and his boots, then took a seat by the stove and dressed his feet while Letty retrieved her own armful of clothing.

“I’m gonna go check on the horses.” Philip slapped his palms against his thighs, rose, and strode for the door. He snagged a pair of newly dried trousers from the rafters as he went and flung them over his shoulder. “I’ll take my time.” His gaze found hers, and she had no doubt of his meaning.

He’d finish dressing in the barn, affording her the privacy to change without him in the bunkhouse.

“I’ll get the coffee on and start some oatmeal.”

He pulled his hat from the nail by the door and fit it to his head, taking a moment to dip his chin and finger the brim in a gentlemanly salute.

The moment the door clicked closed behind him, Letty darted behind one of the blankets she’d hung up to dry and changed out of her borrowed gear, feeling more herself with each layer of clothing she donned. Once dressed, she filled the coffeepot with water and set it on the stove to boil, then strolled around the bunkhouse, retrieving all their clothes and bedding. With each item that she folded and put away, a piece of the trauma from the past day disappeared until all that remained was the routine of packing up camp.

Thankfully, the food had been waterproofed better than their clothes since it had ridden on the packhorse beneath an oilskin tarp. She’d been able to salvage more than half of the remaining oats and flour. If they rationed a bit, it should last until they reached Houston.

After breakfast, Letty washed and dried the soup jar and placed a few dollars and a note of thanks inside. While Philip loaded the packhorse, she approached the house with her offering. The sky had lightened with the arrival of dawn, though the trees surrounding the property hid her view of the sun. The dog under the widow’s porch didn’t bark at her this time. He just came out to give her a sniff, then escorted her up to the front door.

Letty set the jar down and backed away, reaching a hand down to pet the dog as she went. “Your mistress is a kind lady. Take good care of her, you hear?”

The hound rubbed up against Letty’s leg, then moved back to stand guard in front of the door.

Letty smiled. “Good boy.”

She descended the steps to the yard and crossed to where Philip was leading the horses out of the barn. Pausing, she twisted to glance over her shoulder.

Thank you, Lord, for leading me here. For providing the shelter we so desperately needed. Please bless the mistress of this house. Shower her with loving care and abundant goodness in return for the kindness she extended to a pair of strangers. May I be as willing to open my heart and home to those in need should the occasion ever arise.

Something resonated in her spirit as the last words of her prayer shaped within her mind. Letty stared at the house, searching for a meaning that eluded her. What was God trying to tell her? Clarity refused to come, but the moment carried the heft of significance. As if God had planted a seed in her soul. One she wouldn’t recognize until it sprouted.

Trusting him to make things clear when the time was right, she turned her attention back to the moment at hand and crossed the yard to take Shadow’s reins. Rusty trotted around the side of the barn, looking pleased with himself. Must’ve found a nice fat rabbit to feast on. Letty grinned. Her wolf had never developed a taste for oatmeal.

Philip came alongside her and offered her a leg up. Once in the saddle, she took a long look at the bunkhouse. Such a humble, weather-beaten building, yet it would hold a place of honor in her memory. For it was the building that saved the life of the man she loved.

Hearing saddle leather creak, she turned to smile at Philip as he settled onto Steele’s back. Restored health radiated from him, but it was the tenderness in his eyes when they met hers that arrested her attention.

“Ready?”

She held his gaze. She was ready. Ready to forge a path through life with him by her side. But that wasn’t the question he was asking. Not yet, anyway. So she tucked her declarations away for another time, praying she’d get the opportunity to use them someday, and offered him a cheery nod as she leaned forward to pat her mare’s neck.

“Ready.”